


Breathe Me In

by shoelacebox



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alana Bloom/Hannibal Lecter, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sassy Hannibal Lecter, Sassy Will Graham, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter in Cuba, Will Graham is Unsure of How He Feels, Will Graham is a Mess, gay cannibals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 11:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30054756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoelacebox/pseuds/shoelacebox
Summary: Hannibal and Will survive the fall and escape to Cuba, but the FBI is lurking around every corner.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is a bit slow moving but it's to set everything up, I promise it'll get a lot more interesting. I will probably update tomorrow!

The first thing he feels is the impact of the surface of the water against his weak body. The cold of the water all but seeps into his bones, into his very being. Despite this, Will feels a great sensation of calm. Of fulfilment. It's over, he tells himself. Finally. He allows his eyes to close, allows himself to fall into the quiet bubbling that encompasses him. His hands stayed gripped tight against the fabric of the other man's shirt. Was this an attempt to hold onto the reality of the situation, or rather to bring the embodiment even closer? He did not know. The water rushing into his lungs burns sweetly inside of him, mirrored by the burning of his heart. He clutches tighter yet.

Head throbbing and lungs filled with water, Will woke up on the sand with a figure kneeling over him. The water had cleansed him of the blood on his skin, but the red clung to his shirt like a parasite. With blurry vision, Will attempted to scan his surroundings. The sharp, dark rocks at the base of the beach stood just a few feet from him and the sound of angry waves crashing against the cliff rushed into his ears. Then, there was the business of the man above him. At first, Will thought it might have been a paramedic, someone who had come to rescue him from his injuries but as his vision began to stabilize he realized he was not entirely wrong. 

Hannibal's hand moved to the side of Will's face in an almost intimate fashion. He held him like this for a moment as he inspected his face and chest. After coming to a conclusion that Will did not know, he stood up and began to walk off. Will felt an almost tugging sensation go through his body and suddenly he was white hot. The blood was coursing through his veins again, every nerve was on fire. He had survived and Hannibal had as well. With much difficulty, Will brought himself into a sitting position. He coughed in an attempt to dispel the burning water from his lungs, alerting the attention of the beast slightly further down the beach. Hannibal turned to look at him with that same calculative expression, though he was plagued with exhaustion. 

He took long, purposeful strides towards the other man before kneeling beside him. "You've been out for a while, Will." Hannibal rasped out, looking over Will again. Still not entirely coherent, Will nodded in understanding. He looked at his feet, realizing one of his shoes was missing. The stinging sensation in the side of his face caused his hand to move to inspect it, but Hannibal caught his wrist instead. He held it there and, with a drawn out sigh, told him, "You will surely infect your wounds if you touch them." Will looked at the hand on his wrist in wonder. Those same hands that had killed so many, those same hands that had caressed his face, those same hands that had forced the piece of glass into Jack's neck, those same hands he used to hold him close. For the first time, Will turned to look the man in his dark brown eyes. There was nothing behind them, even in this moment. Despite this, Will swore he could see the hints of relief. 

Not long after, Hannibal got to his feet again with a bit of effort. He was obviously very weak and could hardly hold himself up from the way he constantly changed the weight on his feet. The beach was small, hardly anywhere to stand before reaching the water. Hannibal seemed to already have a plan in mind, simply waiting for Will to summon the strength to stand. "We must get moving." He said quietly as he looked out onto the waves. It was nearly dawn, and the sky was beginning to lighten up a shade of orange. If Will weren't so tired, he would have said it was beautiful. Instead, he remained silent. Will wasn't sure he could stand, let alone get moving as Hannibal had decided. With a small grunt, he brought his knees to his chest as if preparing to stand. 

"And how exactly do you plan on getting out of here." He said through clenched teeth. His entire body hurt and he was sure something was broken somewhere. 

"We walk." Hannibal replied. He offered a hand to Will, turning his gaze to him as well. Brown meant blue as they looked at each other. After a moment, Will took his hand and pulled himself up. He rocked slightly once he had gotten to his feet, prompting another hand on Hannibal's forearm to steady himself. "It is rather long but necessary. If we leave now, we might even be off this beach by sundown." 

Will did not like his plan. All he wanted to do was rest. His body ached, and he was freezing. Every fiber of his being told him he needed to sleep. But deep down, he knew Hannibal was right. Begrudgingly, he began to walk. His hand slipped out of Hannibal's as he left him behind. His movements were awkward and uncoordinated but he moved surprisingly quickly for a man who had just fallen off a cliff. Now, he was fueled by his want for sleep and, better yet, to be as far away from Hannibal as he could be. The older man trudged on behind him without another word as he focused his energy on walking alone. The silence between them was deafening, even with the growling of the sea next to them. "We were supposed to die, you know." Will growled out lowly. No response. "It was the end, our end, but here we are, clinging to life."

"All living things are motivated by the innate instinct to live." Hannibal replied after a few moments. "We are simply fulfilling nature's expectations."

Will grumbled to himself quietly as his feet sunk into the sand with each step. He hated this reality. The reality where, yet again, the teacup dared to gather itself once more. He wished he had died, that Hannibal had died, that there would be peace for himself and Hannibal. There was no peace in this. There was no peace in the reality where Will depended on Hannibal. And did Will depend on Hannibal now. "This isn't nature. This is confrontation."

"Do you see this as a punishment, Will?" Hannibal asked.

Will remained silent as they walked, only answering later. "Prove to me it isn't."


	2. Chapter 2

The walk alone had left the both of them completely exhausted. Hannibal had lost his refined nature and instead relied upon heaving, deep breaths in order to bring enough air into his lungs. Will was no better off, limping and nearly clawing his way off of the beach. Both of their walks were awkward and unsteady what with their wounds and the sand underneath their feet. Without a solid foundation, a task as simple as walking became incredibly daunting. After taking a break once they were off the beach, Hannibal and Will began their trek back to the house. While they waited with their backs propped against the bark of two trees, they remained in silence. It was impossible to know what the other was thinking, what judgements were being placed upon one another. The implications of every little move came rushing into play, but all tenderness displayed on the beach had dissipated. In all honesty, Will didn't want to be around Hannibal at all, let alone have to live with him. Yet here they were. The night before was meant to be the end of an era, the end of the Chesapeake Ripper and one of the most infamous serial killers to ever live. Will didn’t want the honor of taking Hannibal down, he didn’t try with the intention of being labelled a hero or a legend. If anything, he viewed it as a surrender, a surrender to the inevitable. If neither of them could survive separation, both of them needed to go, the intent was to satisfy the greater good, to take hold of fate and see how She would allow this reality to bend. The reality was bent, that was obvious, but not in the way Will had hoped. He looked out upon the dark green pine trees and the sky blindfolded with gray clouds. The air was still chilling him to his core, and he wondered if he had gotten sick. Pneumonia? Maybe even a common cold. Would Hannibal have even told him? What was the intimacy at the beach’s purpose? A coaxing of Will back into his right state of mind, or rather a formality fit for a fallen companion? At any rate, if he was sick, that would help him avoid being put back on Hannibal's menu. Each person Hannibal had become close with had sealed their own fate, was this his? They continued to make their way down the road, the heel of Will's one shoe hitting the pavement almost echoed in his ears throughout the quiet. As the house came into view, a sinking sense of dread began to encompass him. He felt the familiar shiver of fear creep up his spine. Now, there was no way out. No FBI officers to help him, no way to get rid of Hannibal. Despite this, Hannibal didn't seem to be too worried. This wasn't a surprising discovery. He didn't spare anymore passing glances to Will as he did on the beach, nor did he attempt to make conversation that felt forced. Though this was probably just a formality, an act of respect for the other’s privacy, to Will, this was almost worse.

By sunset, they arrived at the house. Will practically fell over the second they reached the stone at the base of the house. The feeling of the cool rock against his skin should have been a relief for him, instead it signified something much more uncomfortable. He allowed his head to fall back and his eyes to close with the feeling of the cool air combing through his dark hair and the smell of the salty water wafting into his nose. Hannibal sighed lowly as he walked towards what remained of The Great Red Dragon and kneeled by him. Sprawled out with blood pooled around him, the Dragon had remained as perfectly intact as he had the day before. He lay there as a reminder of the power Hannibal and Will had shared that night, the embodiment of what their relationship had meant to be from the second Will stepped foot into Jack Crawford’s office all those years ago. From his sitting position, Will observed him in curiosity. The older man had simply been checking the arrangement of the body and if it had differed from how they had last seen it. The look in his eyes showed no regard to the life the man had lived, rather the safety of his own well-being and Will’s as well. If the FBI had been here, there was no doubt Hannibal and Will would have been apprehended at the very least. If it were a setup, there would have been at least some evidence of it because even the FBI wasn’t foolproof. But as he examined the man's body, he remained silent and calm. He got to his feet swiftly and headed towards the triangular house without another word. The strength in his being was evident even in his times of weakness from the muscles that rippled underneath the fabrics of his clothing. Being wounded did not mean that Hannibal was not as strong or capable. In fact, it could mean he was even more dangerous and would go through greater lengths in order to preserve himself. Will just continued to sit and look at The Dragon as he gathered the strength to rise again and to face the real animal inside the house. Hannibal didn’t need razor sharp claws or fangs, he had every weapon at his disposal simply by being. Knowing this had no effect on Will. He followed after him through the glass door.

Upon originally entering the house, every memory of that night came rushing back to him. The stain was still on the ground from where the bullet had pierced through the wine bottle along with Hannibal's flesh. Next to it, the stain of Will's own blood when the knife was put through his face. The shattered glass was strewn about the kitchen floor, visible even from the adjoining living room that Will stood in. The house had an eerie energy but not due to the tragedy of murder that had taken place. No, Will was beyond the unreality of taking life. This was different. A place had been made for them in this world. The sense of loss did not come from the man outside, but rather from the absence of Abigail. The original plan of Italy was long lost but the memories and sensations remained. The betrayal felt from both parties and the forgiveness that reared its head afterward. Those memories had devolved into nothing more than a stain on the carpet. He walked slowly as if he were surveying a crime scene, inspecting each and every thing in the home. The tables, the walls, the paintings, the items, anything that could serve to tell him what had led him to this moment. Where was his head? Why was this his reality? At that moment, Hannibal returned from a deeper portion of the house with bandages and various first aid items including a pair of bloody tweezers. He was moving quickly, as he usually did, but not with the same sort of urgency that one would imagine. Hannibal stood before Will and took in his appearance for a moment. His face was ultimately the same except that his wounds had begun to bleed again. He tilted his head slightly at the strangeness of the situation they were in, the way the world had completely turned on its head. "Take a seat, Will." He said simply with a motion to the couch. Will nodded, took his seat, and watched Hannibal intently. 

The older man first began by unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers danced gracefully over the buttons, yet Will felt the familiar pinch of anxiety gripping at his insides. It was the same type of fear one feels when a lion comes to nuzzle against you, it's large paws hiding it's razor sharp claws. Even still, Will had no choice but to allow Hannibal to do this. "You're lucky to not have bled out with how he stabbed you." Hannibal pulled the sides of his shirt open to reveal his chest and the stab wound near his shoulder. Though it was still dribbling blood, Will had suffered more severe injuries than these. Hannibal noted the other scars on his chest, one being from Jack and the other one he gave Will himself back in Baltimore. He wished deeply to trace over these marks, to remind himself of the times that used to be. Instead, he focused on the now. There was no time to reminisce. He turned to grab the rubbing alcohol and bandages that he left on the floor next to him. Without warning, he began to douse the wound in alcohol, leaving Will huffing and groaning in pain. Hannibal shushed him in an almost soothing manner. He writhed a bit until the intense stinging stopped, finally feeling the relief that he had been waiting for. Hannibal sighed quietly as Will panted and attempted to regain his normal breathing pattern. While he did this, he began wrapping the bandage around his wound, winding it around his body and arm. His movements were slow and calculated, gentle even. Will could only watch, not daring to move too quickly. 

"What about you?" He asked. To this, Hannibal replied by lifting the sweater enough to show the red that seeped into the bandages around his abdomen. Will's eyes widened at the amount of time it had taken Hannibal to remove the bullet and bandage himself. He wondered if he had done it hastily so as to better attend to Will's wounds, or perhaps he was simply suspicious of being around the man who had tried to kill them both while he was wounded. Hannibal did not button up his shirt again before he got started on cleaning up his face, this time using a cotton ball to dab the alcohol into the wound. When the ordeal was done, Will's face had been patched up and disinfected and Hannibal hands were yet again coated in his blood. He sat down next to him on the couch and stared at the blank screen of the television ahead of them. "I know they're coming for us." Will said.

"The FBI? Yes, eventually." Hannibal said lowly. 

"What do we do?" 

Hannibal paused but continued to stare ahead of him. "I'm not quite sure we have the same goals. I will not be returning to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Nor will I allow my capture again."

The stinging had come back, but not just from his wounds. What were his intentions? He looked down at his own hands for a moment in order to process what Hannibal had just told him. It was impossible to forget what had happened when Will had betrayed him, the loss of one of the very few things he loved. Was he motivated by fear of that loss or want for new beginnings? If Will were to leave to leave with him yet again, would the teacup dare to gather itself once more? So many thoughts swirled inside his head, dizzying and clouding his mind. He would be lying to say he didn't want Hannibal to be captured yet again and confined. The morals of his being reminded him that the loss of innocent life was never something that could be redeemed. But where did they stand? Surely not within the small pond of human ethics, but rather in the ocean of gray area. 

"And neither will I." He replied. "We have to leave then, we have to get away."

"I did always wish to show you Florence." Hannibal said wistfully. "But it seems Europe is no longer an option either." 

"Then there's the issue of getting out of the country."

"I've got plenty of people who can help with that." Hannibal replied with a small chuckle. "Where are you thinking of?"

"Mexico?" Will said as he got to his feet. He began pacing as he usually did while he thought. “But what if that's too close.”

"Wherever we go, we need to leave soon." Hannibal said as he got to his feet as well. He approached Will a bit, causing the other man to straighten himself to his full height. Memories continued to flow back to him of being with Hannibal. Is this what he wanted? He would be throwing away the life he had built up after Hannibal had been arrested. He would be throwing away Molly after all he had put her through. Did he have a choice though? Hannibal began to walk away towards the kitchen. Will watched as he went and listened to the footsteps as they grew further and further away. "Will, you must make a decision, there is no time for contemplation."

"Then we leave tomorrow."


End file.
